


Day 16. Thunder

by Munnin



Series: Fictober [16]
Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16305017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: The first victim of battle is always the plan.





	Day 16. Thunder

They dived between the tufts of salt grass, making use of what little cover they had to fire back at the encroaching droids. Clad in shiny white armour, the troopers stood out too starkly against the dusty red soil. They fired, ran ahead, firing again. Looking like fish in a barrel to the clanker tank that led the ore convoy. 

The flat plane gave the clone troopers little advantage. Or so it seemed to the tactical droid commander. 

TX-47 had seen the downed LAAT on the horizon, dipped on an odd angle with smoke rising from it. He calculated the Republic ship must had misjudged the unusual updraft caused by the hot sand and rocks and so crash landed. The two clone troopers now running ahead to the transport must have been survivors. They were running towards the large outcropping of rocky ground, looking for cover. There was a 68% chance the troopers would make it on foot before the ladened mining transports could catch them. He had wanted to bring STAPs but it was statistically unlikely the aerial platform would function effectively given the terrain.

They would destroy the troopers when they reached the outcrop. There was an 83% probability the troopers would try to make a stand once they reached cover. And there they would be annihilated. 

So, the convoy chased to the two fleeing clone troopers, unaware of the troopers that flanked them, blending in with the desert soil. 

“Almost there.” Djarrah breathes into the comms tucked into his hairline. He stopped, darted ahead and stopped again, moving like the little lizards. 

He hefted the kyber tipped spear, getting ready to throw it as the tank lumbered towards the rocks. A few more metres and the tank would be within range of the rocks, and the heavies waiting there. 

But at the last moment, the tank veered off, turret aiming up at the rocky outcrop.

One of the Fire-Riders had peeked his head up too soon, the glint of his armour giving away the location of the ambush. 

“No!” Djarrah screamed and bolted forward. He flung his spear, the crystal point digging into the metal plating. It discharging a burst of energy like a disrupter, causing the tank to rock and falter. 

But too late. The tank fired into the rocks. A white clad figure was thrown clear, his dying scream echoing painfully. 

Djarrah stopped, drawing on the Force as he ripped the gun turret around and away. Red Mist flanked him, firing at the clankers now spilling out of the transports 

But Djarrah put too much strength behind it. He was so enraged that a life under his care had been cut short, he twisted the tank, tipping it past the point of balance. 

“Droid poppers!” Gel called. The experienced clone captain already moving with this change of plan. Djarrah had exposed the vulnerable underside of the tank and it was time to take advantage. 

Red Mist circled around, getting out of the way as Wrathor and Rezz opened fire with the big guns. Djarrah danced through the centre of the melee and up onto the tank, deflecting and redirecting blaster shots from both sides to hit where he wanted to. 

The downed tank, its electrics fried, hung at an odd angle. Its flank was caught half on the rocks as it fell. As the tactical droid clambered free, the driver of the transport behind the tank was too slow to stop, ploughing into the tank and pushing it further up the slope.

Djarrah used the Force to grab the fleeing tactical droid, holding it still as Red Mist jumped on it. But the focus needed cost him a moment’s attention. A blaster shot winged Djarrah, sending him falling between the tangled vehicles. 

Just as a third transport crashed into the back of the second and sent the tank tumbling. 

“General!” Captain Gel yelled as the Jedi vanished out of sight under the pile of crumpling metal. 

Fordo rushed forward but Gel signalled him back. “You have your mission, I have mine.”

With a nod, Fordo peeled off, calling to Red Mist to fall in. They had a tactical droid to contain.

As the Fire-Riders mopped up the last fleeing droids, Gel dived down into the tiny gap between the tangled vehicles, trying to reach Djarrah.

The Jedi was unconscious, his arm pinned by the weight of twisted durosteel. 

Sergeant Crue hung over the edge of the tank, looking down into the confined space as Gel climbed in gingerly. “We can try to winch it off him.” Crue suggested, all too aware of the bright copper blood flowing too fast from the Jedi’s crushed limb.

“There isn’t time.” Gel reached to Djarrah’s dropped sabre hilt, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “We have to cut him free.”

“Negative, sir!” Crue shouted. “He’s right under the fuel tank. One spark as you cut and you’re both gone.”

Without out opening his eyes, Djarrah lifted his free hand, the sabre flying into it. “I’ll do it.”

“General!” Both captain and sergeant shouted at once.

“I don’t have the strength to lift the tank. Besides,” His eyes squeeze tight and looked away, whispered some prayer in a language none of them understood, “It’s my arm.”

With a swift gesture he thrust the sabre hilt under his arm, igniting the blade as he ripped it upwards. And rolled away.

Leaving his crushed limb behind.

Even through his bucket’s filters, Gel could smell the burning flesh and hot metallic tang. “Get him out.” 

Hand over hand, the two troopers lifted and pulled the fallen Jedi out of the gap, passing him down to the others. 

“I’m fine.” Djarrah muttered, swaying on his feet as they finally set him down on the ground. “Tell me we got what Kenobi wanted?” 

“We did, sir.” Frodo and Crispy pulled a hoversled behind them, the droid safely locked in the transmission proof box. “But Sok and Tone didn’t make it.”

Fernie stepped in, unslinging the trauma kit from his belt but Djarrah waved him away. 

Jat touched the side of his helmet. “Skate’s inbound. He assumed the crashing was his cue. Hey Rezz, he said to say the smoke grenades worked a charm.”

“Evac in 5, General.” Gel said softly, holding Djarrah up. “We’ll get you into bacta soon enough.” 

“I’m not coming with you.” Djarrah answered, sitting heavily on the sand. “I’m staying here. My people will treat my wounds. But I need something before you go?”

Gel thought to protest but he knew it wouldn’t help. “Anything, sir.” 

“Get into those downed transports. Get all the ore out. Just tip it out onto the ground. It needs to be given back to the land.”

Thunder rolled over the plains, bringing with it fat drops of rain that streaked their painted armour as they emptying the transports, and returned the stolen ore to the dirt. 

Under their feet and skittering everywhere were the little lizards, wiggling down every crack between the tank and the transports. 

“What do you think they’re after?” Crispy asked, careful not to step on them. 

“Me.” Djarrah answered with a dazed chuckle, turning his face up to the coming storm. “They’re taking advantage of the free meat.” He shrugged, an odd gesture with his arm severed at the shoulder. “My people believe everything that’s taken must be given back. I guess that’s my part to give back.”

***

Gel watched out the LAAT’s gun turret viewport, keeping his eyes on the wreckage and the Jedi propped against it until they lifted through the clouds. 

“You were right to abide by his wishes.” Fordo commented quietly, seeming to read the other captain’s thoughts. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Gel muttered bitterly, finally turning away. “Now let’s get this clanker back to General Kenobi. I just hope it was worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Best beta in the world - Josh.


End file.
